Chapter 6: Dog Days

"She felt as though she was drowning, and he was the only solid thing in the world. This was what—who—she wanted."

—Arthas: Rise of the Lich King

Jaina stared in horror. Her throat tightened, and tears pricked in her eyes. She spun from Arthas's darkened room and chased the nurse down the hallway.

"Wait, please," she choked out, and the nurse paused and turned; she was the same black-haired woman from the day prior. "What's wrong with him? I thought he had the flu? I just saw him yesterday, and he didn't look like that."

The nurse smiled reassuringly. "Prince Menethil experienced a severe allergic reaction to his dinner last night. We've medicated him accordingly, and he's in no danger, I promise you." Jaina nodded before hurrying back to Arthas. The air in his room smelled of crushed pine, and she shut the door behind her.

Like before, he lay facing the wall, and whether he was asleep or not, Jaina couldn't tell. His entire body was slumped on top of the sheets and clad only in loose undergarments; his bare back and limbs were studded with welt-like hives, deep crimson like bloody thumb prints. A thin layer of dried pink cream had been smeared in patches across the afflicted skin. Candlelight glowed from the bedside table, illuminating the ghastly scene in a shimmering tint of gold.

"Arthas," she said worriedly, standing over his bed. She reached down with a hesitant hand, and Arthas turned on his back. The rash bloomed dense on his chest, climbing upward to paint his neck red and scatter up his cheeks. Jaina gasped. "What happened? What did they have you eat?"

He gazed up at her blearily. "This is Kael's doing." His voice was hoarse and slurred, and Jaina only continued to gawk. "Nobody will listen. Jaina… Why did you send him?"

Jaina inhaled a deep breath, snapping out of her shock as she pressed a palm to his scorching forehead. "What are you talking about?" His temperature felt even hotter than during her prior visit. He was delirious, she thought. "I didn't send anyone."

Arthas looked confused, and his eyes were clouded with dim hurt. "I don't understand," he said, voice cracking. Jaina shushed him as she rearranged his hair in a frantic, fidgety motion.

"Just… just lie down," she stammered, although Arthas currently didn't appear capable of much more than a listless flopping motion. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed vacantly.

Jaina hastened from the room, breaking into a jog as she descended the inn stairs. Her heart pounded with panic; regardless of the nurse's reassurances, Jaina had never seen Arthas so sick before. Her boots clacked swiftly across the stone floor of the lobby, and she soon burst through the front entrance into the warm night air.

Some yards away, a tall man approached from the opposite side of the road. He stepped beneath a cluster of streetlights, and his flowing blond hair glowed beneath the turquoise illumination. Jaina did a double-take.

"Kael?" she called, pausing in her tracks. He walked toward her, smiling in the gloom. The tips of his long eyebrows glinted blue. "What are you doing here?" Perhaps the blunt question was rude; but it was quite late, and she had never known Kael to make a habit of strolling after sundown.

He stopped before her, examining her unnerved appearance before replying. "I've come to visit Arthas," he said plainly. Jaina blinked. "He fares better today, I hope?"

"No," she said, collecting her wits, although the mysterious relationship between Arthas and Kael still perplexed her. "He's terrible. I'm going back to get my study materials, and then I'll stay with him tonight."

A jaundiced expression flitted across Kael's face, so fleeting that she may have imagined it. "I see. That's unfortunate news." He inclined his head. "Well. I'll be seeing him myself, now."

Jaina nodded, already turning to hurry away to the citadel. A few seconds later, a curious sensation of doubt twinged within her through the cloud of anxiety. She hesitated at the intersection and looked behind her.

Halfway down the block, Kael still stood in front of the inn. His hand rested on the door handle, and he'd turned his face to watch her with an impassive green stare. Jaina waved nervously and pattered off into the night.

A breeze picked up, rustling the sleeves of Kael's robes. He sighed and stepped into the lobby. Jaina would sacrifice her valuable sleep to attend a flu-ridden boy? The way events were unfolding, she'd likely be sick by Friday as well. It seemed that his best efforts to intimidate Arthas into putting on a convincing performance were all for naught.

He walked across the lobby, passing a table of gnomes playing board games, and made his way up the stairs. The door to Arthas's room at the end of the hallway was unlocked, and he let himself in quietly.

Kael blanched. He strode to the bedside; Arthas's tired gaze tracked him, but the paladin made no apparent effort to stand. He looked remarkably miserable and exhausted, and although the defeated expression might have pleased Kael in another time and place, now it only engendered a surge of flustered dismay.

"You," Arthas whispered. Kael seated himself and gingerly pried open Arthas's mouth. As expected, his tongue was beet-red and swollen. Kael shut his eyes in frustration.

"I specifically instructed you to send for me." Humans… They could be such unexpectedly frail creatures.

"You poisoned me." Arthas's voice was a slurred wheeze, and he barely mustered an accusatory tone. Kael ignored him and pulled out the green medication box.

"What are your allergies?" Arthas stayed silent, staring at the ceiling. Whether he was merely being stubborn or had fallen into a stupor, it wasn't clear. "List them for me now," Kael demanded.

"Nothing," Arthas said finally. A scowl darkened Kael's features.

"Clearly it was something." He peered at the tiny font printed on the side of the cardboard. "Are you sensitive to Kingsblood? Dreamfoil? Mageroyal? Kobold whisker? Powdered phoenix down, perhaps?"

Arthas's eyes remained blank and glassy. Kael tucked the box away, and his frown deepened.

"This was not my intention. Under ordinary circumstances it's a highly effective remedy, I assure you. I'll return tomorrow with an alternate solution."

Now Arthas gazed at him with groggy despondence. "Holy Light, no… Just go away," he mumbled, shifting laboriously to face the wall. Residual flakes of dried balm rained down from his waist and shoulders, dotting the sheets with pink powder. He reached back to scratch at a large, bleeding welt.

"Don't touch them," Kael said sharply, grasping Arthas's wrist. He snatched the bottle of unguent from the bedside table and tapped a dollop into his palm. "Lie on your stomach." With the aid of a firm shove, the paladin's heavy body rolled over with limp flump. Kael brushed away the locks of blond hair and began slathering the viscous medication over the most irritated patches, spreading it evenly up between Arthas's shoulder blades. A muffled groan rose up from the pillow.

Kael stopped, suddenly perturbed. Why was he doing this? Arthas had a nurse. But maybe if Kael took care of this task now, that would prevent Jaina from tenderly reapplying the cream over Arthas's entire rash-ridden hide, a rather sour prospect…

No, no, this was ridiculous logic. And he certainly didn't want to be caught sitting here with greasy hands, rubbing all over a questionably conscious Arthas when Jaina returned. As it was, she already seemed leery of the nature of their relations. With that thought in mind, Kael stood and moved to wash his hands in the sink.

He paused in the center of the room and cast a final guilty glance at the ailing human prince. Arthas remained prone as Kael had left him, face buried in the pillow, and his back shuddered as he coughed raggedly.

It was only Wednesday, Kael reminded himself. Two days was plenty of allowance for a significant recovery. And dismal as Arthas's condition was, he was certainly pliant now. Kael had access to a selection of other potent remedies. No, hope was not lost—his long-awaited date with Jaina Proudmoore would attain its fruition.

"Expect me tomorrow," he said, standing in the doorframe. Arthas offered no reply, still laid out in a boneless heap. Kael supposed it was a better farewell than crumbs in his hair.

Arthas closed his eyes. Above him came the wet sound of unguent shaking in its bottle, followed by the cool pressure of hands on his spine.

"Your nurse only covered part of your back," Jaina muttered. Arthas rarely knew her to brood or blame, but the frowning resentment was evident in her voice. "How could all of this happen? It's appalling, honestly. I'll write a report to Sir Uther tomorrow morning." Her palms continued to run smoothly over the expanse of his shoulders, spreading to his ribs and the dip of his lower back. Arthas's body was drained of energy; he lay utterly motionless, even as Jaina's careful touch ignited a stinging fire along his skin. His brow furrowed as she moved to his thighs and calves.

"I don't trust these people to take care of you. Maybe I'll bring separate meals."

"It's fine, Jaina," he said croakily. He'd given up on explaining his disturbing encounter with Kael, as any attempts to do so only resulted in a worried stare and a thermometer wedged between his lips. Even Arthas was beginning to doubt his own fevered recollection of events.

Jaina was silent while she finished applying the balm. Arthas listened as she paced across the room and briefly turned on the sink, and he turned his head to watch her upon the sound of opening curtains. A small white moth flitted in through the black square of night. Outside in the distance, blue pinpricks of light glittered from the city streets.

"It's so hot outside," she said, leaning out the window and craning her neck. Arthas watched the breeze flutter her hair. "The stars are bright… I can see the dog constellation."

She turned and smiled at him. In the dim room, all that shone was the fondness in her eyes. Arthas felt an aching, undefined heaviness in his chest. For a moment, he was a boy again in Lordaeron, and this was yet another night of blithe, endless summer with the girl from Kul Tiras.

His bleary gaze followed her as she pulled a book from her satchel and sat beside him on the bed. For a long while, only the occasional dry rasp of a turned page perforated the hushed air. Wax beads dripped leisurely down the candle, sweating an oily sheen beneath the warmth of the flame. Jaina tilted her head periodically to fix him with a concerned look.

"You don't have to stay," he said quietly.

Jaina closed the book and placed it at her feet. "Is the light keeping you awake?" Before he could answer, she leaned to blow out the candle. Now only wan moonlight penetrated the dense gloom, and a tendril of smoke unfurling from the wick emerged into view as Arthas's vision adjusted. "You should rest now."

A shuffling noise sounded as Jaina pulled off her boots. He felt his heart beating, steady and hard, as she slipped onto the mattress beside him.

"You'll get sick," he said. He turned his face toward the wall.

Jaina said nothing. Arthas shut his eyes as her body pressed against his side, surprisingly cool in the sweltering heat of the night. Her forehead leaned into the edge of his shoulder, and her bare feet brushed his own.

Jaina never stayed angry with him, and he wondered why she didn't.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. In spite of the muggy air, a shiver rippled across his limbs and torso. Shame pooled within him, viscous and cold, seeping over the burnt coals of anger. His lips parted, and the breath hitched silently in his throat before he continued.

"I… hope you have a good time. At your event." The words tasted bland on his swollen tongue, and their sound was distant from his stuffy ears. He swallowed thickly.

Jaina's fingers trailed down a lock of his hair. "How exactly did you hear about that?" she asked softly.

"He told me." Even the memory of Kael's lilting taunt thudded emptily in his head.

For a while, Jaina remained quiet, and only her shallow breathing tickled his shoulder. "Oh," she said finally, and a faint edge of hardness lined her tone. The silence stretched further.

"You know, I would have invited you, but it's more of a networking social for local and visiting magi," she said apologetically. "I'd forgotten about it until just yesterday."

"It's fine," he whispered, and his face burned with humiliation. He knew acutely well that he was an outsider to Jaina's new realm, and her attempt to placate his insecurity only made him feel like a child.

Why must you be such a child?

Arthas stared hollowly at the dark wall. Jaina was a year younger than himself, but sometimes he wondered when she'd left him behind. Kael could force him to his knees, yet Jaina's even-tempered maturity would always remain painfully more humbling.

"I don't actually plan to attend anymore," she added, and Arthas turned in regret. Had he wanted this? This was no victory.

"Jaina…" He shifted on his side to face her, desperately arranging his features into something that felt less pathetic.

"I'm just so busy, that's all." She smiled, and Arthas felt a lump expand in his throat. "But of course, I'd still like to go for a picnic."

She nestled against his chest, and in spite of the inflamed skin, Arthas barely registered the stinging pain. He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her with his clammy warmth.

"Let's do that, then," he murmured, chapped lips pressed to her hair. Contrition continued to trickle within him, and he inhaled deeply, curling his fingers into the fabric of her robes, losing himself in the moment's sensation—the familiar width of her shoulders, the sweet scent of her hair, the smooth caress of her hands. How had their childhood years passed by so quickly? At least the best parts of Jaina were always the same.

I love you.

He opened his mouth, but once easy words were now caught tangled in his throat.

Would Jaina echo them back? Would she simply smile, or turn her head away completely?

He shut his eyes briefly. "I love you."

"I love you too." Her reply was instantaneous, nearly as though she'd been waiting for his words. Maybe she had been. She was Jaina, after all, and when had Jaina ever not loved him? He clutched her to him tighter, and she peered up, eyes glistening in the dark. Her lips curved; the smile stayed steady, even as his chest shook against her.

Arthas's fever burned through the night, and as he drifted in and out of sleep, Jaina remained in his arms throughout—Jaina draped across his chest in a meadow; Jaina pushed against an empty corridor wall; Jaina weeping in his shirt; Jaina writhing on cold marble; Jaina glowing in the light of ballroom chandeliers; Jaina curled silently in his bed…

Grey dawn had begun to radiate through the open window when she finally extricated her body and retrieved her boots and satchel. Arthas awoke as she slipped quietly out the door. He shifted instinctively to the spot where she'd lain, where the heat and lingering fragrance faded slowly from the sheets. When he slid into another dream, Jaina was there once more.

Later that morning, Arthas sat hunched on the edge of the mattress. He stared haggardly into a steaming mug of lemon tea that the nurse had brought earlier. A throbbing ache wracked his skull, and with a sigh, he dropped back onto his side. For a while he lay motionless, staring at the door, wondering idly when Jaina would next visit. Ideally he could just walk to the citadel himself by the next day.

The door swung open, and his insides knotted. For someone who complained about knocking etiquette, Kael lacked in that department as well.

"Good morning. Wide awake, I see," Kael said coolly, striding to the desk and dragging the cushioned chair over near the bed. He seated himself before Arthas and placed the glossy satchel he carried onto his lap.

Arthas eyed him with weary trepidation. "Just leave," he muttered.

Kael paused, and his bright green gaze flicked down to the shadowed space beneath the bed. He bent forward to withdraw a tome bound in sturdy black cloth. "Studying while bedridden, are you? Hm." A tasseled bookmark shaped like a snowflake fell from between the pages. Kael plucked it off the floor, frowning.

"That's Jaina's." Arthas glimpsed the embossed metallic font on the cover—Physiology and Behavior of the Orc: Second Edition by Krastinov and Whitherlimb. Apparently that recent fixation had yet to wane. "She spent the night," he added, unable to help himself.

Arthas watched as a familiar expression of brooding frustration darkened Kael's face. It was a sight he once savored, and undoubtedly still would, if only he weren't debilitated by illness and utterly at the mercy of the jealous mage.

"I'll return it to her," Kael said, sticking the paper snowflake back inside the book.

Arthas felt his irritation stir. "She'll come back today anyway."

Kael looked up, and their eyes locked in a glare. "I'll return it," he repeated coldly, tucking the book into his satchel. "Now, let's try something else, shall we?" He removed a cylindrical bottle and placed it on the bedside table, followed by a small glass beaker. The transparent bottle contained a mysterious fluid, vivid magenta and alarmingly luminescent. "This should avoid triggering any complications with your incompetent immune system."

"What is that?" Arthas's stomach flopped as Kael poured the substance into the beaker, where it drizzled with the consistency of hot honey. He squinted at the label on the bottle; it featured a picture of a speckled black flower surrounded by yet more Thalassian script. He wondered if it occurred to Kael that elven remedies might not translate well to medicine for humans.

"It's medicine. You'll drink it." Kael appraised him with narrowed eyes as he set down the bottle.

"I won't." Arthas stared back balefully, lips tensed. Never mind personal grudges; he was now convinced that Kael had no credibility whatsoever in this field. Or perhaps the elf was indeed inflicting intentional suffering, in which case he was more than adept.

Kael smiled humorlessly and reached into his satchel. "I anticipated your resistance," he said, pulling out a gleaming metal apparatus. It was a slender pipe, slightly curved, blunted at one end and flared into a funnel at the other.

Arthas felt his insides shrivel. "What is that?" The function was grotesquely obvious, and the question only served to stall for time as he processed his dismay.

"Ah, this?" Kael asked silkily, stroking his long fingers along the metal tube. "I had this delivered from an agricultural supply vendor based in Lordaeron. Do you enjoy goose liver?"

Arthas paled. He hated Kael. His eyes darted desperately to the door.

"So you're familiar with gavage, then. Yes, I find the practice quite appalling too. In Quel'Thalas, such gratuitously cruel treatment of animals is prohibited. Can you imagine this device sliding down your esophagus every morning, noon, and evening, fattening you just shy of bursting… whether you like it or not?" Kael flashed another bland smile, and his fingertips reached to tease along Arthas's bare abdomen. "I wouldn't wish such a fate on even the simplest of creatures."

Arthas flopped out his palm. "I'll drink your damn syrup," he said hoarsely. Kael would obviously have his terrible way with him regardless, and compliance seemed now the most dignified option.

"Excellent."

Arthas sat up, wincing as his muscles ached in protest. He twisted his mouth reluctantly as Kael held out the beaker.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "I'll recover on my own."

Kael stared, impassive and expectant. Arthas took the beaker. He looked down at several silver bubbles straining their way to the treacly surface.

"Is this some twisted manner of apology?"

Kael sniffed. "No."

Arthas's focus switched helplessly between the glowing concoction and Kael's flinty expression. "You're… using me to impress Jaina?"

"Your talkativeness today is auspicious, indeed." Kael tapped his crimson nails on the side of the metal funnel. "Hurry and drink."

Uther often said that sometimes, villainy simply had no rhyme or reason. Arthas cast aside his questions and downed the contents of the beaker. With his swollen tongue and congested sinuses, any flavor possessed by the thick, slippery fluid was undetectable. Kael took back the empty container and withdrew another glass bottle from his bag, which Arthas recognized as the same one from Kael's bedroom floor.

"Here," Kael said, placing the clear ointment on the bedside table. "For your rash. Apply it to your face, at least. And don't think for a second of throwing the bottle at my head as I leave." His hands clenched around the gavage instrument, and his extended eyebrows angled steeply over the sinister slits of his eyes. Arthas lay back down and rolled to face the wall. If only Jaina could witness her mild-mannered elven prince now, he thought darkly. Of course she only ever saw the book-alphabetizing, tea-sipping version, not this demon brandishing a feeding tube.

Kael's satchel rustled, followed by the sound of footsteps pacing across the room. The door opened and shut.

Arthas waited with tense apprehension, planning to induce himself to vomit in the bathroom. A minute passed, perhaps two. He detected nothing amiss about his stomach or head, at least not beyond his current ill state, but a terrible sense of foreboding permeated the room.

Just as he slung his legs off the edge of the bed, the door creaked open. Arthas flinched. Kael stared suspiciously from the doorway.

"You can leave," Arthas croaked, retracting his feet back onto the mattress. He lay still, heart pounding. The door closed.

Only one question echoed through the fogging ache between his ears. Why?

It was now Friday night, and for all of Kael's efforts, his plans had crumbled to nothing but ash and disappointment. He walked briskly through the blue-lit streets of Dalaran, and the wind flapped the gilded edges of his formal robes as he headed to the venue alone. The foreign sting of rejection still prickled in his chest.

Due to a slew of interferences that day—an impromptu council meeting to discuss last-minute approval of a controversial presentation at Saturday's symposium, high priority letters from Quel'Thalas requiring immediate replies, a large carrion bird inexplicably squeezing its way through the open window of his study—there had simply been no time to check on Arthas's recovery. And in the end, that didn't even matter. Jaina had stopped by his desk earlier that afternoon, tucking her hair behind her ears and apologizing for her inability to attend with him. Being "busy" was her desultory explanation, and she sheepishly departed the room while Kael sat wounded between his stacks of paperwork.

Even Rommath, who formerly planned to visit Dalaran for the biannual gathering, was unable to leave Silvermoon due to unforeseen demands from Grand Magister Belo'vir. The event now represented little more than a nuisance obligation to Kael, and after hastily sending off his last letter, he threw on his change of clothes and left the citadel nearly an hour late.

Kael cut through an alleyway and stepped out into a cobbled plaza. The broad area was deserted, save for a dark cloaked figure hastening eastward along the topiary-lined perimeter. He recognized the gait instantly; after all, he'd spent enough time by now staring after Jaina as she walked away.

"Jaina," he called. The figure gave a start and turned. As expected, Jaina's unmistakable face was shadowed beneath the drooping fabric of the cowl. Kael strode toward her. She remained motionless, frozen like a cornered mouse before a cat.

He stopped in front of her and loomed tall, eyeing her with disbelief. She was clutching her staff beneath the billowing folds of her cloak, and its sharp crystal head poked free to glow in the night air.

"Oh, hello," she blurted.

"Where are you going?" he asked. It was past ten, and all the shops had closed by now.

Jaina blinked, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm visiting Arthas. He's… I'm still worried about him."

"Ah. Is that so?" Kael glanced pointedly at her staff. "His inn is west of here, is it not?"

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I got sidetracked."

Crickets chirped from the flowerbeds as Kael appraised her. He reached his hands up to push back her hood; Jaina flinched backward, and a faint expression of hurt crossed his features.

"I really must hurry. Good night, Kael." She bowed her head. "I hope you have a nice time," she added, skimming her gaze down and up Kael's formal robes with what he imagined was a hint of wistfulness.

Kael wrestled back his frustration as he bit the tide of questions on his tongue. "Thank you," he began, hoping Jaina would wait just a moment more, but she was already turning away to slink off into a dim side street.

He stood there for several seconds, frowning, before continuing toward the venue. What use did Jaina have for a hooded cloak on such a balmy night, let alone her staff? Where else could she possibly be going, if not to visit Arthas? And what about this furtive activity granted it precedence over one of the most high-profile magi events of the year?

Around the next corner, the entrance to the Dalaran Galleria spilled gold light onto the lavender pavement. Kael cast aside the seeds of brooding suspicion that were taking root within him. There would be time later to ponder that mystery, but for now, nothing would be gained from lamenting Jaina's Friday night priorities.

The wide indoor court was bustling with crowds of magi, and the air thrummed with chatter punctuated by boisterous laughter and shrill exclamations. Enchanted instruments gleamed from a raised platform in the corner; piano keys glowed as they dipped gracefully on their own, and a levitating bow swept across the strings of a cello with supernatural zeal. Overhead, ruby clouds of bougainvillea cascaded downward from the rails of catwalk balconies, on which more ornately robed guests clustered like tropical birds amidst strings of lanterns. High above them, colorful reflections dancing on the glass ceiling were pinpricked with starlight from the night sky beyond.

A Kirin Tor servant weaved over with a platter of cocktails, and Kael plucked one as he entered the teeming mass. Both fresh and familiar faces flashed in and out of view, and the next forty minutes or so were spent exchanging pleasantries, discussing recent projects, and engaging in a seemingly endless stream of introductions. Many prospective scholars were present, and Kael made his best effort to memorize the deluge of new names—Calandra, Elandra, Corla, Silva, Tiare… the list spooled on. Apparently an unprecedented number of women would be joining the ranks of the Kirin Tor by the next year. Kael wondered guiltily if the curtain in the examination room had been repaired yet.

He moved toward the refreshment counter at the northern wall, navigating between carved marble pillars and tipsy old men. On the way he glimpsed Khadgar on the opposite edge of the polished dance floor, clutching a champagne glass as someone's hand stroked coaxingly at the sleeve of his robes. Over at the tables, a congregation of students listened while Kel'Thuzad gestured in the midst of an animated speech.

The black-clothed food table was laden with dainty hors d'ouvres, their plates arranged around the bases of glittering ice statues that towered and twisted in the shape of mana wyrms. An assortment of bottles formed a line along the middle. Kael had just begun to peruse the wine list when Ansirem Runeweaver appeared beside him. The grizzled archmage was a loquacious drinker, and Kael was soon ensnared as the lone audience for his mournful tales of Catelyn, his beloved only child who'd recently fled Dalaran to pursue a life of piracy in Stranglethorn Vale.

"'Boring,' that's what she called it here. She said life in Dalaran was nothing but 'musty books' and, I quote, 'grey-haired, stiff-backed, stuffy mages.'" Ansirem looked grieved. "My contacts in Booty Bay inform me she's been seduced onto a leaky boat by a man known only as Pretty Boy Duncan. Pretty Boy Duncan!"

"Perhaps she'll return, once she's quenched her thirst for exploration," Kael suggested, pouring his second glass of wine.

"I'll be dead by then! Moldering in my grave!" Ansirem drained his glass and reached for a tiny chocolate tart. "Ohhh. The rash, fickle heart of a young woman. Why a pirate? Why couldn't she be a mage?"

"There's time enough, surely." Kael was perturbed to notice wetness wobbling in Ansirem's eyes. "How goes progress on your most recent book?" he asked, hoping to derail the downward spiral of a heartbroken father.

"Oh, it's all finished! The first edition of Portals are NOT Garbage Bins has been published as of this week. It's an ethical piece, although fairly technical as well."

"Your writing is sensational. I know someone who'd love to get her hands on your latest work." Yes, Jaina and her curious preoccupation with portals… Kael's smile faltered slightly.

"Come find me at tomorrow's symposium, Kael'thas. I'll be giving away signed copies." Ansirem looked pleased. He turned his head to the direction of the dance floor, and his gaze lit up even further. "Ah, if you'll pardon me, I see my colleague's apprentice over there. Wait here please, I'll introduce you two."

Kael nodded and shifted his focus to the table. He stared absentmindedly at the cheese platter, eyes narrowing as he nursed his wine. Portals… of course. His mind flashed back to the garter-like burn on Jaina's thigh. What quality portal could a mage of her standing possibly conjure? Gifted as Jaina was, she was a novice nonetheless. Her summons couldn't be much larger than a rabbit hole. Perhaps that was why Kael had seen her barely eating lately. But where was she sticking her limbs off to? And why now, specifically?

"Your apprentice, Miss Proudmoore. She's not here with you?"

Kael's pointed ears pricked, and he looked to the source of Jaina's mention. Off to his left and beyond a cluster of several guests stood Antonidas, along with another man who Kael had never seen before. He was a lanky human, perhaps in his late forties, with pale skin and a trimmed beard. He wore an elegant set of black and maroon formal robes, and his wheat-brown hair was slicked back neatly.

"Jaina's not feeling well, regrettably. She's taken the day to rest," replied Antonidas. Kael pinched the stem of his wine glass, now listening intently as he eyed the pair through the crowded gap.

"Mm. Women and their indispositions."

Antonidas raised his bushy eyebrows. "The women here aren't any more prone than the men are."

"Indeed. Ah, I've been meaning to ask, have you any updates on the status of my shipment request? The sexual stimulant." Kael stepped closer, straining to filter the man's low-pitched voice through the background babble.

"Not yet, I'm afraid. The importation paperwork is always slow to process." Antonidas took a sip from his glass. "I do apologize for our servants misplacing the first delivery. That wasn't the only incident, unfortunately."

"Perhaps one of them ran off with that little philter, hm? The packaging is hardly clinical." The man smirked wryly, giving his glass of red wine a swirl.

Antonidas's brows knitted. "Remind me again. What is this project of Lord Blackmoore's? Exotic animal breeding, you said?"

"Yes. They've all been rather… listless, and pheromones have such a short shelf-life. Aedelas will be pitching a funding grant request from King Terenas to construct a zoo. He claims the revenue would be unprecedented."

"A zoo is an ambitious venture, to be sure." Antonidas didn't appear enthused by the prospect, but then again, Kael couldn't recall a time when the solemn archmage acted particularly excited about anything.

The man grinned before sipping his wine, and his straight teeth gleamed bright white. "Aedelas is a man of many grand ambitions."

The crowd of guests impeding Kael's view wandered away to the seating area, and Antonidas's sweeping gaze fell upon Kael.

"Ah, Kael'thas. I was wondering where you were," he said, stepping over. The brown-haired man approached beside him.

"It's quite a crowd to get lost in this year," Kael replied, and they exchanged friendly smiles. Antonidas gestured to his companion.

"This is my colleague Dr. Krastinov—an esteemed physician, and a talented mage," Antonidas said. "Jaina and I worked with him in Durnholde last month while investigating the orcs' affliction." The man, Krastinov, bowed.

"Prince Sunstrider, it's an honor to meet you," he said, reaching to shake Kael's hand.

Kael smiled. "The pleasure is mine." Krastinov's grip was firm and cool.

"You've spent time recently with Prince Arthas Menethil, haven't you?" Antonidas asked Kael, who wondered just what exactly the archmage had heard. "Krastinov will be transferring soon to work as a royal doctor in the palace of Lordaeron. Now, would you say—"

"Kael'thas, thank you for waiting!" Antonidas's inquiry was cut off by the abrupt reappearance of Ansirem Runeweaver, who now moved with a faint teeter and a human girl in tow. Antonidas's moustache twitched. "Oh. Pardon me," said Ansirem, only now noticing Antonidas and Krastinov.

"It's quite all right," Antonidas said. "Kael'thas, enjoy your night. We'll continue our conversation later, perhaps." Kael nodded, and Krastinov bowed once more before departing into the crowd with Antonidas.

Kael turned his full attention toward Ansirem, who beamed and placed his hand on the shoulder of the petite blonde beside him. "Allow me to introduce you to Lady Delth, the apprentice to my colleague in Stratholme, and an aspiring young author. She gained admittance to the Kirin Tor several years ago, and she'll be studying here next spring after finishing her extensive travels abroad."

The girl dropped into a curtsy, plucking up the shimmering fabric of her emerald dress robes. "Your Highness," she said, barely audible over the din of the crowd.

Kael smiled. "Please, call me Kael." The girl blushed.

"Lady Delth has a particular fascination with elven history," said Ansirem. "She would be honored to share a dance with the prince of Quel'Thalas."

Kael glanced at the ornate clock face mounted behind the refreshment table. It was a quarter past eleven, and although he'd hoped to make his exit soon, it appeared that dancing was now unavoidable. The lights had gradually dimmed over the past hour; Khadgar's sweating face swayed by from somewhere deeper in the dense flock of couples.

"It would be my privilege, Lady Delth," Kael said pleasantly, extending his hand to the red-faced girl. Ansirem watched with fondness as Kael led her to the floor.

Perhaps it was the wine—Kael had never been a jovial drinker—or maybe it was the girl's vague, almost taunting resemblance to Jaina, but as they swung in step, Kael caught himself beginning to brood. The warmth of her shoulder against his palm, the musky perfume of her plaited hair, the crystal blue of her kohl-lined eyes... it all served to brew an inexplicable frustration within him.

The last violin bow glided to a halt, and he bade the girl a polite farewell. By the time the night air greeted him beyond the venue doors, a foul-tempered unrest simmered steadily in Kael's head.

Out on the street pavement, a couple continued their dance to the performance of crickets. The woman twirled, and the wind blew her hair across her face as she cried peals of giddy laughter. Kael strode by sourly in the direction of Arthas's inn.

Less than ten minutes later, he arrived at his destination. The inn lobby was quiet and deserted, as was the hallway leading to Arthas's room. Kael rapped his knuckles on the wood and waited.

"Come in," came Arthas's voice. He certainly sounded better.

Kael opened the door. Arthas sat at his desk with his hair tied back, clad in pants and a sleeveless top. The blood-red hives across his body had flattened and faded to a subtle pink, and his face had regained its normal healthy hue. Before him on the table lay a silver broadsword, alongside a bottle of oil and a clump of metal wool. A lantern burned bright from the built-in bookshelf.

Arthas turned his head, and his eyes narrowed. He picked up his sword, resting the flat of the blade over his shoulder as he stood.

"Yes?" His voice was strong, and he paced toward Kael with a flinty stare. "I'm in no need of elf doctors today. Nor was I ever, for that matter."

"When did Jaina leave here?" Kael asked tersely. Arthas remained unsurpassed as his least favorite conversational partner, and he had no desire to prolong their chat with snippy exchanges.

Arthas stopped a couple feet away and eyed Kael's embellished formal robes. "Noon. Why?"

"Be honest."

Arthas's hard gaze flicked back up. "I am."

"Do you know where she is?" Kael kept his features wooden, unwilling to submit more details than necessary.

"No. Why?" Arthas replied, his brow creasing further. He studied Kael intently.

"It's urgent," Kael said cagily. "I need to know. If you have information, tell me now."

"By all means, continue to explain nothing whatsoever." Arthas's mouth twisted in irritation as he tapped the sword against his shoulder. "Why not ask her yourself tomorrow? Or don't—seeing as how you're not her man, and where she goes is none of your business."

Kael glared, rankled. "I much preferred you with a bloated tongue. Perhaps—"

"Okay, get lost." The door swung shut in Kael's face with a firm bang.

Kael sniffed and stalked back down the corridor, fists clenched. Trust Arthas to be wholly unhelpful, he thought. Regardless, he'd confirmed his suspicions; Jaina had spent her night doing something else entirely. But what?

By the point at which he'd arrived back at the citadel, Kael's somewhat inebriated mind was swarming like a nest of wasps. He marched to Jaina's bedroom and knocked loudly on the door.

This wasn't his place, arguably—but no, her activities were dangerous. Hadn't he explicitly stated that amateur portals were a serious hazard? Any Kirin Tor authority would have this discussion with her. And on a more honest level, Kael was simply tired of being held at arm's length, shunted aside with polite smiles, mumbled excuses, halting hands, hasty departures.

"Jaina." He knocked again.

Kael pulled out his pocket watch. The time was past midnight. Was she inside, ignoring him? Or was she still out, slinking around the dead of night in a black cloak?He wasn't sure which prospect was worse.

He stood there in silence, struggling internally as he placed his hand on the doorknob. The sensible part of him protested this behavior as unacceptably demanding, invasive, uninvited. But when had passive, polite consideration yielded him anything at all with Jaina? Certainly Arthas wouldn't think twice about barging in, and who did Jaina adore more in the world than Arthas "Manners Optional" Menethil? Yes, perhaps he would take a leaf out of Arthas's book tonight.

His grasp tightened around the cold brass. His knuckles glowed, and with a click, the door creaked open.